Utah Valley Marathon 2012

Guys. Running a marathon is a totally idiotic thing to do.

Since Saturday, June 9, 2012, I have done nothing but sleep, eat, and whine about how hard it is to climb stairs and sit down to pee. Seriously, nothing makes me sadder than knowing I have to go to the bathroom. I mean, nothing makes me sadder than knowing I have to go to the bathroom anyway, but whimpering in pain just adds more sorrow.

At least I have that handlebar to comfort me.

 But...

Talk about amazing.

The never-ending bus ride to the start.

This is Adam. We began as country-dancing buddies.

I'm way cool, guys.

Since he began running just over a year ago, he has lost 130 pounds. We ran our first race together last November, the Snow Canyon Half Marathon.

Here he is today.

Annnnnnd....that was the last I ever saw him.

Because he's much faster than I am.

This race was so hard for me. I had been training really hard up until the Provo City Half at the beginning of May (which I forgot to blog about), but then I was scheduled for more hours and working  8-10 hour shifts at the restaurant, that I was so exhausted from being on my feet all day. As a result, training really suffered, so I was definitely not as prepared as I should have been. 

But I was determined to do it, and to finish, no matter how long it took me. 

The night before, I met up for dinner with Adam and Julia, from Pain, Pride, and Perseverance (I met her at the Provo City Half--she had an empty seat next to her on the bus and we hit it off immediately), for dinner at the Pizza Factory to do a bit of carbo-loading.

I only slept three and a half hours, and fitfully at that. But I got so many supportive messages on Facebook, and one of my best friends, Jake, text messaged me a heap of encouragement. Which was actually only one text, but considering who it was, it was a heap. And my roommate Logan wrote me a list of 26.2 Reasons to Succeed, one of which included my ability to hold my pee. 

I couldn't argue with that, so I dutifully ate my bagel and banana, sipped some Gatorade, and geared up to tackle the biggest challenge in my life thus far.

I tried to take a few pictures on my phone as I ran. The race started up in Wallsburg, Utah, wound down through Provo Canyon, and ended up in downtown Provo. An incredibly beautiful course.

The first ten miles or so were a breeze and I was enjoying myself.

Landscape was beautiful, sunlight was warm, and the air was cool.

Then we came out into the canyon and hit the 13.1 mark, which I think was the most daunting thing ever. I realized that I had to do the same distance I had just done. Again.

And did I mention the wind was just BRUTAL? There were times where I swear I was just standing still, even though my arms and legs were moving. And did I mention that this race lied to me? For being a downhill race, there was a heap of hills at the beginning. There is nothing I hate more than dishonesty.

But I just kept plugging along. But not before resting for a minute in the Port-a-Potty.

Miles 14-16 were uneventful. There was a sweet lady with a sign on her back that said "It's my 41st birthday today!" She was so nice to me, asking me if I was doing okay, and patting me encouragingly on the arm. I wish I could've told her at the end how much that helped me. Around mile 17, I sort of started to panic. I was so tired, and things were hurting, and salt streaks were forming on my skin. And there was still so much left to go.

So I stopped to stretch for a minute and took a picture of the river. Because it looks way better if you appear to be enjoying nature rather than trying to decide how to get out of this situation you put yourself in. Like an idiot.

And then I kept going. And I started to pray. Silently. Out loud. I was begging God to help me get through this and just finish. I think I said His name so many times that I had to apologize to Him for most likely taking it in vain. 

Finally, finally, we came out of the canyon onto University Avenue and there were only six miles left. But now I was walking every few minutes or so because it just hurt so much. And I was on the verge of tears for most of it. A couple of times, I couldn't hold them back, so I was jogging past all of the supporters with tears rolling down my face, trying to wipe them off with hands that were just so hard to lift because my arms were exhausted.

But the volunteers in this race were amazing. And so were the spectators. There were three things that made me smile during the heartache of the last few miles. There were the people that were ringing cowbells. There were the signs that said "Chuck Norris never ran a marathon" and "Worst parade EVER." And there was the blue otter pop that was handed to me.

I saw the finish line in the distance and kept hobbling along. Then I was only a few feet away. And my friend Abbie was screaming my name, and then I was there. Mustering up the energy to cartwheel across the finish line.

Yep. I cartweeled at the end of 26.2. What a dork. I think I almost knocked the photographer off his little stand. And then they hung my finisher's medal around my neck.

Which is the point I burst into full, choking, gulping sobs. At the same time, another photographer asked me if I was ready to get my official picture. I was horrified and could only manage to blubber, "Wha-aa-aat?" But they took the picture, salt streaks, tear stains, sweat, snot, and all. Beautiful.

But it was beautiful. I have never felt so much all at one time in this small body of mine. I was crying out pain and fear and insecurity. Excitement and agony and joy. I have never hurt so much or felt so good in my whole life. This was the most rewarding physical, emotional, and spiritual experience of my life.

And as soon as I can pee without falling down onto the toilet first, you can bet I'll be out training for my next one.

Which, according to my friend Seth, means I "completely missed the point of running a marathon."

(more pictures to come, as soon as I can get them from Abbie)